


As it turned out - a lot.

by LuchaLiebe



Category: Professional Wrestling, Westside Xtreme Wrestling
Genre: 16 Carat Gold 2016, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dry Orgasm, Handcuffs, Indy Wrestling, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Some German, mentions of other wrestlers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 18:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9455030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuchaLiebe/pseuds/LuchaLiebe
Summary: It was still a little hard to believe how far he'd come with Axel in only a short time. Once he'd managed to put that little crack in him in Hamburg his fall had come hard and fast.Marty runs into Axel before their I Quit match at Carat 2016 and things turn out a little different for the two.(This is basically the beginning of the Slutverse, in which is Axel has a mighty thirst for dick - thanks to Marty and the headgames he's been playing during the build-up to Carat. Seriously, these two are eye-fucking in every fucking promo.)





	

He looked over the toned planes of Axel's bruised back, followed the curve of his spine down to that tight little ass and those lean thighs with the already familiar searing hot feeling deep, deep in his gut. It was still a little hard to believe how far he'd come with him in only a short time. Once he'd managed to put that little crack in him in Hamburg his fall had come hard and fast.

Marty's dick was starting to get hard in his shorts and he gave it an absentminded squeeze. “Look at you” he praised and watched while Axel's shoulders tensed as they strained against the hold of the handcuffs. At least there weren't going to be questions about lacerations on his wrists, the guy was taped up like the good little sports person he was. The only answer he was getting was a muffled groan from where Axel leaned his chin on the ring post in an effort to ease the uncomfortable position he was in. Not that he hadn't done everything the Brit had told him to until then with little complaint: Stay in the corner, face outward; put your arms over the ropes, reach down – yeah those are cuffs, don't flinch; stay there. Not that he'd been growing a stiffy as soon as Marty had turned the key in the lock that chained his wrists to the second turnbuckle, of course not.

The way Axel was awkwardly hanging in the ring corner, somewhere between kneeling and standing up, it had been easy to peel off his fancy little shorts. The Ringkampf logo's blatant bull's eye had been pulling Marty's attention towards Axel's taut buttocks throughout the whole practice match. Now the Academy was mostly dark, Thatcher, Starr, Bates and Toni Storm probably in their rooms, oblivious to the fun that was still going on in the facility.

“Comfortable there, sweety?” Marty asked when he'd deemed it time to stop staring and finally grabbed a handful of that twinky ass.

“Not very” Axel growled, words slurred slightly and bright pink creeping up his neck and ears.

Marty enjoyed feeling the slight muscle twitch when his beard tickled the boy's shoulder who was now the perfect height for Marty to breath right into his neck. Axel was arching his back a little in what was probably a response hard-wired into his brain lately for when Marty was pressing up from behind. “I know, I'd be pissy too if I was this horny” he sneaked a hand around to loosely grasp that German dick, “and nobody had the decency to do something about it.”

Axel's voice was getting rough when he breathed: “Then do something about it already!”

Marty snickered. “Why would I?” He was rubbing himself against Axel's thigh only a little, trying to stretch this whole thing out as much as possible. “Who says I don't like you sulking? Boo-hoo!”

“You're an asshole” Axel moaned while starting to feebly thrust up into Marty's fist who was even now surprised to find the other was already leaking.

You'd think all their games would have done something for Axel's stamina, he reckoned, but then again, maybe wXw's golden boy was suffering the possibility of being found rutting like a dog in heat in their training ring more than he'd thought.

“Well, I could always go ask your buddy Tim upstairs for help.” Marty waited a heartbeat before he leaned in even closer, fitting the tent in his thin nylon shorts right into Axel's crack. “Or I could fetch your cell and call Mack over, hm?”

There was a full-body shiver running through the man under him that knocked Axel's shoulders painfully into Marty's chin. “Don't you even dare-!” Axel was craning his neck, trying to shoot him a burning look, cheeks red and ears glowing. Marty just laughed when he could feel the dick in his hand twitch happily, and squeezed.

For all he was playing the part of the victim here, Junior was moaning like a slut and Marty wondered how loud he could make him scream when they finally fucked. If his in-ring demonstration earlier was any indication, there was a real chance they could get company down here real fast the way the high ceiling carried sound. A n option to consider.

 

Marty hadn't even planned on training or working out. He'd mostly just come to the Academy to be an annoying shit to the booker and maybe blackmail his way into a streetfight match against Zack while the man was still in the country. When he'd sauntered in through the back entrance like the stealthy bastard that he was, shouldering his gym bag that doubled as his suitcase, he'd already been able to hear the loud slam of some poor sod being powerbombed into the next plane of existence by Big Daddy Walter. He'd only wanted to sneak past, maybe take a quick look at the murder taking place in the ring, and then make a beeline for the offices. If he'd known Axel was going to be here he would have come more prepared: Bring lube or an umbrella or maybe at least put on his wrestling boots Axel liked to rub his dick on so much. He'd glanced down at his worn faux Van's.

Marty had stopped in the doorway to the main room as soon as he'd heard that familiar groan. Always teetering on the edge of a real scream, it'd sent blood into his dick immediately. Oh, he'd heard that a hundred times when he'd cinched that crossface chickenwing tighter, when he'd left welting streaks across Axel's back. Just two days ago, even, he'd heard that noise when he'd fingered the second, messy cumload out of the hero of the _fucking_ company.

A sweaty Axel had just been helped up from the mat by Walter and shook his hand, when their eyes met over the back of the heads of all the trainees who were intently watching the demonstration. Marty grinned cheekily through his mustache.

“ _Hier müsst ihr aufpassen, dass ihr euer Kinn so fest es geht auf eure Brust drückt, ja_? ***** ” Walter was explaining, tugging his own chin in while Axel tried to lounge casually against the ropes, doing his best not to acknowledge Marty at all. His chest was red from the exertion but the nervous streaks rapidly climbing up his collar bones to disappear in the stubble on his chin had nothing to do with the devastating impact of Walter's moves.

The head trainer of the Wrestling Academy was climbing out of the ring to demonstrate something or other to the anxious tweenagers without noticing Marty. Axel remained squirming in the ring from his attention, resolved not to let on that his nipples were peaking up not due to some draft. Marty savored that post-work out pump Axel had going on but waited until the guy dared to throw a glance at him again to grab his junk promisingly through his pants.

Axel spun around immediately and began to stretch with his back to the doorway, giving Marty a nice view of his tense ass. He was wearing new gear, no knee-pads today, even better.

Good thing Marty'd had those handcuffs still in his bag. He'd decided to put that stretch to the test when the gym had cleared out. When he'd confronted Axel later, after an excruciating five hours wait during which Marty had gotten himself almost thrown out the building, had arm-wrestled Tyler a little, had destroyed David in Street Fighter and had edged himself in a bathroom stall, the guy was putting up only the bare minimum of resistance.

“Anywhere but the ring” he'd said, ever the noble wrestler. And now look where they had ended up.

 

“Yeah, that's right, Axel” Marty cooed, tickling the short hair in the nape of his neck with an almost-nip where a new sheen of sweat started to appear, “that's what I'm talking about.” The skin there started to smell like exercise again.

“ _Alter_!” Axel gasped in German.

“You fucking love that, don't you?” The Brit was grinning widely and abruptly ceased tugging.

Axel's hips snapped forward, thrusting into air, not quite reaching the ring post. “Marty-” in his voice sounded the same tone of desperation Marty continuously fantasized about he'd sound like daring him to tap out during Carat.

“Quite up for it are you?” Marty teased but was already pulling on the hip strings of his shorts. Good thing he'd gone commando, quicker that way. He didn't waste time enough to think too much about cum stains on his gray t-shirt since for all he was grand talking, he was as hard as the other guy and would've probably been able to fuck right through his pants. But he wanted to at least hear Axel say it; he knew by now he'd had him as soon as he managed to pull his name out of Axel's mouth. His index finger slipped between those firm globes of muscle.

“Marty, my legs are cramping” whined Axel, hole twitching against the Brit's fingers

“Well, then you better hurry up and ask me properly, make it quick.”

He could see Axel's traps working as he fought with himself for a second before he hung his head low, resting his cheek against the ring post and brow furrowing in defeat. “Come on, fuck me, man” he exhaled. “You know I'm gonna need to come.”

The last word ended in a whimper when Marty pushed the tip of his finger through his ever so tight anal ring.

“Yeah, I know.” This was becoming as much torture for himself as it was for Axel. “How much stretching do you need?” he asked impatiently.

“Fuck, none” Axel groaned, the swear word going straight to Marty's cock. He knew Axel could feel his pre-cum drip onto the small of his back by the way his hole was tightening up, his straining thighs pushing Marty's finger in to the second knuckle.

“Are you sure, Axel? I could let you cum first to have you relax for me” Marty offered, though they both knew he didn't mean it.

Axel must have been getting light headed from all the blood that wasn't fueling his brain. “No! I need your cock, now. Just...” he trailed off into a whine. “Just put it in already, I don't care.” And to think Axel had made such a fuss about barebacking those first few times!

Marty stood back a little to shimmy between Axel leg's, pulling his asscheeks apart. His hole was the perfect height for him to sloooowly tease his cockhead through the opening, one centimeter at a time – partly to make it easier for Axel – he wasn't that much of a villain – but mostly to not start shooting right then and there. “Then put your legs on the ropes and open up, you dick hungry slag.”

Immediately, the pressure lifted a little, Axel breathing through his teeth, the hissing amplified in the empty training hall, and Marty thrust in, angling right upwards with the leverage of his feet being planted squarely on the mat. The noise Axel made was somewhere between a scream and a sob, jerking forward, almost crotching himself and slamming his pronounced cheekbones into the post cover. The bruise on his face could be explained away the next day, not so much the splatter of watery cum that was being literally pumped out of the guy with every one of Marty's thrusts.

“Marty, _Scheiße_ , stop!” Axel cried out when Marty kept going, voice cracking deliciously. “It's too much!”

Marty ignored him. This wasn't the first time he had fucked Axel through his climax, all he'd have to do was remind the great Axel Dieter Senoir's son about the miracles that were dry orgasms. All he'd have to do was not nut before that despite the spastic contractions around his dick. But moving was easier now that Axel was nice and open. Marty made sure he was milking that button for all he's worth. He changed his hold to gripping where thigh met ass like he wanted to lift him off, putting a little less strain on Axel's shoulder joints. It wouldn't do to shag himself to an easy victory in their “I Quit” encounter. After all, he was trying to prove a point with that. “What, am I going to make you cum again?”

Axel's panting was louder than the squeaking of the buckles, louder than their skin violently slapping together. “Marty” he said again but at this point he could have said anything, “Marty, fuck” – or was it “fuck you”? – and “Oh Gott”.

Marty could feel his own orgasm build in his stomach just as the last resistance in Axel was crumbling. But damn if he wasn't a gracious fucker and made the other guy cum first. And from the looks of it the German was barely hanging on, moaning non-stop, not even able to form words anymore, clamping down on Marty like a pro, head lolling to the side.

In the end, Marty had gotten more of a workout than he'd originally anticipated: He was drenched in sweat, shirt and loose hair sticking to him. “Yeah, come on, do it”, he shouted hoarsely, wrapping his arms around Axel's midriff as if he was going to suplex him, “Do it!”

Just as he was saying it, Axel's whole, previously limp form scrunched up; every single, sculptured, wrestling-bred muscle in his underwear model body tightening up all at once.

“Unf!” Marty gasped, clinging to a shred of restrain. Then Axel started shaking.

It started in his legs then raced up his rips and finally made his head jerk backwards, back painfully straight, eyes wide enough that Marty could see it from his angle, before he screwed them shut. Marty could have sworn they were rolling back in their sockets. This was way better than screaming, these mewls, the breathless, honest to god “ohs”. The cuffs were jingling from the way even Axel's arms were trembling.

Marty caught himself staring, mouth open. Maybe a little bit jealous. Who would even come like this in real life? “For fuck's sake,” he said, burying his face in Axel's quivering triceps as he finally shot inside that hot, hot hole. It was almost more of an afterthought.

He waited until the spasms had stopped before he let his soft dick flop out. Without his support, the other body collapsed against the ring post. After pulling his shorts back on, Marty reached up to pull a little on the handful of what longer hair was now sticking up in all directions from Axel's scalp. “Hey, are you out?”

It was the first good look at that fucked-out face he'd gotten all evening and he intended to savor it: The darkening bruise on the cheek already swelling up, the glassy look, the slack jaw, wet from too much drool and perfectly fit for a dicking. But that had to wait for another time.

Axel fixed his eyes at him from under heavy lids. Swallowed. “I'm fine”, he managed. If only the boy was always as complacent. He didn't even flinch when Marty picked up the discarded wrestling trunks to mop up the cum leaking from between his cheeks.

“I'm going to undo the handcuffs” Marty warned, rolling out of the ring. “You better steady yourself.”

Surprisingly, Axel hadn't keeled over as soon as Marty had put the small key back in his gym bag, turning back around, ready to leave. His work here was done. His Carat opponent just stood there, still hanging in the corner for support, out of breath, with his face buried in his hands, looking like he needed a good, cold beer.

Marty brushed his beard back into shape and stray hair out of his forehead and said with a liberal amount of sneering: “I hope you'll remember the feeling of my knob in your ass until Friday – you'll start to miss it probably.” He was almost out the door when he added: “Looking forward to the match, Axel. Say goodbye to your boyfriend from me.”

                   

                                                                                                                                       . . .

He'd almost gotten Marty with that damn ring gear, he could give him as much. He'd noticed it as soon as he'd come walking down the ramp. Their eyes had locked as they'd squared off, stalking each other's moves, and he'd known it had been on purpose. Of course, that's why he'd had such high hopes for Axel. Marty had smiled and nodded in acknowledgment to let his opponent know they were on equal ground here.

Then they'd locked up and Marty had just had enough time to whisper “How long did it take to get the smell out?” before he'd been whipped into a vicious arm drag. It had been a war after that.

As a little payback he'd kept the handcuffs for last. They'd already brought out the kendos and a chair and they'd been resting in opposite corners, beaten up and blown up. Neither man had yet submitted although Marty was certain he'd go home with a dislocated shoulder, at worst even a torn muscle and Axel was bleeding from an ugly cut on his temple from when Marty had used his head for a little swinging practice with his umbrella. The boy was a good bleeder, you had to give him that.

Marty's head had been ringing from Axel's running leg lariat which had brought both his crotch temptingly close to Marty's face as well as had his leg catch Marty square in the nose. The roar of the record Carat crowd had grown louder, chanting for Axel to get up and maybe grab that chair, honor of his legacy be damned. The chants had risen even more in volume when Marty had reached into the front of his trunks to dramatically pull out a pair of handcuffs. His grin had become wider and wider in time with the yes!-chorus. Two could play this game.

Even from across the ring and with what could have been a mild concussion he'd been able to see the color drain from Axel's face, not just from blood loss, but because it was rushing south. Then it had come back with force, making Junior blush and fresh blood gush from his wound.

The people had been clamoring for a fight, for violence, they'd wanted their hero to go through shit and come out victorious in the end. Well, they hadn't gotten exactly what they had come for.

 

Marty didn't even wait for Hot&Spicy to enter the locker room. Watching them hug and cry like the great stuck-ups they were was only going to kill his winning-boner. He ran into them in the short hallway that connected gorilla to the showers and everything else. Or rather, Axel ran full force into him.

“Whoa, you should have done that a little earlier!” Marty laughed right in Axel's blood caked face, completely ignoring DaMack.

“I've had enough of your cheating!” Axel spat back, honestly looking a little bit wild in his current, post-hardcore make-up. It reminded Marty a little of the Axel that had come, shuddering, into his ass – into another human being – for the first time, all the way back when.

Marty raised his hands defensively, a gesture mocked by the smug, satisfied twist to his lips. “The rules are the rules. You agreed. You quit” he said.

“ _Komm_ ” DaMack interjected, pulling Axel away with a hand on his shoulder. “ _Das hat doch keinen Sinn. Lass uns sauber machen gehen, Junior._ ” ******

“Take the opportunity to kiss your boyfriend one last time” Marty suggested helpfully which earned him a smoldering look and a raised middle finger. The boy was starting to really learn. Now he only needed to recognize this situation as the chance for greatness it really was.

 

“Frankfurt. Gate B, Terminal 1, 7:25, tomorrow”, read the message he'd sent the day before. Marty checked his cell again while waiting in customs. Still no reply. Not surprising at all since there was no rational reason why Axel would even read his texts anymore. Still, you didn't let a man pop your cherry, make you pass out from fucking, suck his dick and sext a lot – nemesis yes or no – for a whole damn year and then don't even react to that man offering you a golden future in the UK together. What did Axel even have left in Germany?

**Author's Note:**

> * "Be careful to hold your chin to your chest as firmly as possible, okay?"  
> **"Come on, this is pointless. Let's go get cleaned up, Junior."


End file.
